


A much-maligned ruler

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 01:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16672459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ Short Affair challenge. Prompts: crush, greyIllya is in theory fond of children … but sometimes they make it hard





	A much-maligned ruler

“You’ve got the case safe?” said Napoleon as they walked into the airport.

“I’ve got it safe.”

A noisy family behind him pushed Illya up against Napoleon’s back in the check-in line. The resulting close inspection of Napoleon’s hair revealed an interesting phenomenon. He was about to utter a teasing remark when he was caught in the back of the legs by a luggage trolley. It was quite painful and he turned angrily to find a very small child swinging on it and forcing it against him.

“Excuse me, do you mind?” he said, and put a hand to it to push it gently away.

“Bobby, leave the gentleman alone,” said his mother. “I’m so sorry,” she said to her son’s victim, who smiled deprecatingly. But he had no sooner turned back than the child swung the trolley extremely hard into his legs throwing him to the floor. Napoleon reacted immediately and swung round gun in hand, to the alarm and distress of the child’s mother.

“Oh,” he said and, putting the weapon away, reached down to help his partner to his feet. Illya was very flushed and rubbing the backs of his knees. “Are you OK?”

“I’m absolutely fine,” he snapped and seized the trolley from the child, who started howling. Napoleon took it from him pacifically, and passed it to the mother who stepped back a pace away from them. Illya kept his back firmly turned, ignoring the family and muttering direfully under his breath about enlightened rulers like Herod with their statesmanlike attitude to infanticide.

Someone of course took advantage of the small gap that had opened up in the line. To the family’s indignation, a tall man took their place. In the general crush, he was necessarily tightly pressed up against Illya who turned to remonstrate, only to feel the pressure of a weapon in the small of his back.

“I’ll take the case, Mr Kuryakin,” the man said softly.

“Which one?” said Illya, not very softly, and nudging Napoleon.

Napoleon turned his head, then he swung round and cried, “Victor! Of all the coincidences! Are you going where we’re going?”

Marton smiled, ever the gentleman. “Mr Solo – Napoléon – how nice to see you. Why don’t we stand aside and let the line get shorter?”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Victor. We want to check in and get on board – things to do, you know.”

“Then I must insist on taking that case – _force majeure_ , gentlemen.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Victor,” Napoleon repeated, stepping out of the line and drawing his weapon, to the alarm now of others in the line who began to disperse.

Feeling the weapon in his back waver a little, Illya flung himself to the ground, giving Napoleon a clear firing line. They heard a woman’s voice saying, “Bobby, come away, now!”

Bobby’s parting trolley thrust caught Victor off balance and sent him flying into Napoleon’s arms. Illya picked up the weapon he had dropped and got to his feet.

“Losing your touch, Monsieur Marton,” he said but Marton had pushed Napoleon away and was off before the security guards now running up were even close. The two agents looked after him and shrugged. There was no point making things worse by firing at him.

<><> 

“I take it you’ll be calling off the massacre of the innocents,” said Napoleon as they relaxed into their seats.

Illya looked down the aisle to see where the family had been put. Right at the back, near the galley and the stewards’ trolleys.

“I’ll take a rain check,” he said.

“That’s good. Sometimes innocents actually have their uses. Protecting them isn’t a grey area of policy.”

Illya smiled an evil smile and turned to him. “Talking of grey areas,” he said, “I noticed several in your plumage when we were fighting off that brat at check-in.”

Napoleon sat upright and stroked his hair. “It can add distinction to a man’s looks; makes him look less juvenile,” he said, pointedly looking at Illya’s youthfully fair locks.

“What does your washbag contain, I wonder,” Illya retorted.

“None of your business.”

“There are some very good products on sale, I believe. Quite naturalistic. I’ll be interested to see if they work.”

“Why don’t you go to sleep… Junior.”

Illya grinned mischievously and let his seat back and was about to close his eyes when there was a crash from the galley and angry voices. “Herod the Great has been much maligned,” he remarked as he settled down to doze.

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End file.
